


Well Hello There

by taranoire



Series: FenHawke Drabbles [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 12:27:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2547470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taranoire/pseuds/taranoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>number 2: two miserable people meeting at a wedding au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Well Hello There

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt/gift for officialinquisitorofthedas on tumblr.

Maker, this is boring. 

Hawke wanders the edge of the reception ballroom, blatantly ignoring his own name as he gets a second glass of wine. It’s stuffy and dark and the music is irritatingly not his style. If he was the one marrying Donnic this is not how he would have gone about it. 

There would definitely have been more beer. And perhaps an enormous dragon made of balloons. And cake. Where’s the bloody cake? 

He sips at his drink and turns to the left, nearly bumping into a complete stranger, red wine sloshing over the rim of his glass. No sooner has a muttered (yet completely charming and sincere) apology left his lips does he find himself, for once, entirely speechless. 

Here in the dim lighting, bright white hair is stark and difficult to miss. The stranger is an elf—and that in itself would be something rare at a human wedding—with piercing green eyes and an expression so blank Hawke cannot quite determine if he’s about to be slugged in the face. 

"You—I…" Excellent. Losing all manner of vocabulary is definitely helping. “I hope that suit is a rental.” 

"It isn’t," the elf says, though the tone of his voice indicates a total lack of concern. His gaze is calm, if subtly disconcerting. 

Oh, Maker, he’s probably pissed. Hawke clears his throat and extends a hand. “I’m terribly sorry. We haven’t even met and here I am dousing you in spirits. My name is Hawke. Well, Garrett Hawke, but most people just call me Hawke, it’s a…nickname, thing….” You’re babbling. Shut up. 

The elf’s eyes flash towards his hand, back up towards his face, and down again. He shakes it. His hands are deceptively delicate-looking; his grip is firm. “…Fenris. Donnic invited me, though for the life of me I can’t understand why. I presume you’re a friend of Aveline’s?” 

"Unfortunately," Hawke mumbles, and at the slight quirk of Fenris’ eyebrows he decides to elaborate. "I hate weddings. The food is barely digestible and there’s only so many times you can dance the Remigold without feeling like an ass." 

This earns him an honest-to-god chuckle. 

"Yes, well. I imagine that one’s perspective changes once they become married themselves," Fenris says. "Personally—I cannot imagine it." 

"Really?" Hawke asks, intrigued by the opportunity to glean whether this very attractive elf has a significant other. "Forgive me if this is too bold of a question, but have you never been in love? Is there—no one in your life?" 

Fenris shrugs, as if the question and its answer are inconsequential. "It’s…not too bold." He leans against the wall. “It isn’t as if I haven’t thought about it or wanted it. It’s simply that for a long time I was in a difficult situation that made such things idle fantasies. Things are different now, but no—there is no one.” 

"Consider yourself lucky, then." Hawke joins him against the wall. What a sight they must be, two grown men glowering in the shadows like outcasts. He’s getting flashbacks to high school dances. 

There is a pause. 

"Are you?" 

"Hmm?" 

"Married," Fenris says, looking away. 

"Me? Oh Maker, no,” Hawke responds. “And at the moment, I don’t expect it will ever happen. I’m perfectly content to live out the rest of my days in both obscurity and loneliness.” 

"You’re a handsome man, Hawke," Fenris says quietly, and Garrett very nearly falls through the floor. "It’s difficult to believe there’s no one that’s captured your interest." 

It’s become difficult to swallow. “Not really, no,” he lies. “My particular interests are…not well-received in Kirkwall, unfortunately.” 

They exchange a knowing glance. Fenris tilts his head, lips parting slightly, and nods. The heat of bright green eyes bore into Hawke like the hottest of dragon fires. Hawke isn’t quite sure what’s happening but he’s pretty sure they’re on the same page now and that thrills him deep in his bones. 

"I see," Fenris says, revealing nothing. He pushes away from the wall. "Are you…interested in discussing this further? At another time, perhaps, when you’re not as keen on marking your prospects with bright red wine.” 

"It would be better if I bought you a drink instead of throwing it on you, yes," Hawke agrees.

Fenris gives a subtle, bright smile that Garrett suspects could probably make flowers grow. “Consider me scandalized that you would be so bold.”


End file.
